The Fall
by ThalyaWonders
Summary: AU as in Sherlock didn't foresee that Moriarty might kill himself and he has to jump without any preparations. Focuses almost completely on the fall. One-shot.


**A/N:  
** **This story was actually inspired by season 3 of Sherlock, when - during the best man speech - I realised how fast Sherlock's brain actually works. I thought it would be interesting to explore what he would think during his fall, if it would have gone the way Moriarty wanted.  
Obviously, I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters, though I enjoy pretending.**

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Standing on top of the ledge, he tries not to think about what he is about to do, but even Sherlock Holmes can't shut this out. As he is looking down at the pavement, he calculates how long it will take for him to reach the concrete. His brain supplies the answer in less than a second. (It will take him a little over 6 seconds to reach the ground.)

He sees John getting out of the cab at the same time as his brain registers the mobile in his hand is ringing. He answers, preparing himself for what will be one of the hardest phone calls in his life. Sherlock might insist on calling himself a sociopath, but he knows that is a lie he tells himself. Unlike his brother, the Ice Man, he is actually capable of feeling emotions.

He isn't wrong. The phone call is hard. He can't see John's facial expressions from this distance, but he can picture them in his mind when he hears his voice, screwed up with emotion. He feels a slight burn in his eyes and when his sight goes slightly blurry he is surprised to find tears welling up in his eyes. His brain tells him there's no good reason to be crying – he will suffer only a limited amount of pain and it will all be over very soon – but his body does not respond according to reason. It is only when he hears John's pleading voice over the phone once more that he realises the tears are not for himself.

' _Empathy'_ He thinks to himself. _'Interesting.'_

He ends the phone call, throws the mobile on the roof and leans slightly forward, his brain calculating exactly how far he can lean while still being able to retreat to the safety of the roof. His brain reaches the point at the same time as his body, and then he's past it and gravity takes over.

0…

He takes in the sensation of falling and starts to file it away in his brain – just like he did less than a minute ago with the information he acquired about empathy – when he realises that there is no use to it. He knows the chances of him surviving are less than 5 percent, and to be honest, he doesn't know if he would even want to live with the injuries that he is about to obtain. Broken leg, broken arm, broken hip, fractured ribs, cracked skull, ruptured spleen, quite possibly a punctured lung – his brain starts summing up all the possibilities. He shakes his head in an attempt to get rid of the images that accompanied the possibilities. It frustrates him to know that he will never be able to gain more knowledge than he has right now. His whole life had consisted of two main goals. Getting as much knowledge as possible on all subjects of importance and – however childish it might seem – being smarter than Mycroft. Mycroft had always had the advantage of being seven years his senior, thus having more experience and more knowledge. Something that often led people to the incorrect conclusion that Mycroft was smarter than he was. For the time being they might have been correct, but Sherlock was catching up with Mycroft, meaning in a couple of years he might have been as smart as Mycroft and being able to surpass him shortly after. Now that would have been something worth living for.

1…

"Right before you die, you see your life, flashing before your eyes." Sherlock laughs scornfully. _'Yet another lie that is fed to the population of the Earth.'_ The only thing that flashes before his eyes is what he sees at the very moment, which is the scenery of London that he knows so very well. He's seen the buildings he's looking at right now an incredible amount of times. He could tell you how many stairs the building right across from him has, its function or even the year it was built. But none of that matters right now. What matters is that that's what he's seeing, instead of his bloody life, while he is most definitely in a situation that could be described as "right before you die". (His brain had subconsciously kept track of time, so he knows he has roughly five seconds left.) Yet, all he is seeing, are buildings he has seen countless times before. He'd never believed in the story, but he'd never been able to prove that it was incorrect either. His only previous encounter with near-death had been when he accidentally overdosed, and at the time he knew his sensory information was distorted and thus to be discarded.

2…

An interesting idea pops up in his head. _'What if there is something after death?'_ He is very close to finding out and it excites him, thrills him. He knows that scientifically speaking the chances are slim, but he's always said it, "the body is just transport". _'But who knows what happens to_ _ **what**_ _is being transported when the body gives up? I suppose it depends on your stance of the mind-body problem*.'_ He'd always seen himself as a dualist, declaring the mind separate from the body. But as quickly as the exciting idea had entered his mind, he also realised that he knew too much about the anatomy of the human body and therefore the dependence of the brain on said body. No matter how the conscious mind comes to exist, it is still somehow generated by the brain and will therefore die at the same time as the brain. Which in his case, would be very soon. He scolds himself for getting carried away by something as ridiculous in these last precious seconds of his life. This is not like him, he should stay sharp, his mind had always been his best asset, he will not lose that now.

3…

This leads him to wonder how the police department will survive without him. He was basically the one to solve eighty percent of their cases. Sure, they could've done it without him, but they'd be a lot slower. Another thought enters his mind. Lestrade will probably get fired, or at least demoted. Though he would have never said it to the man's face, he actually wasn't such a bad detective. Excruciatingly slow and missing the most important evidence, but for normal standards, he had a keen eye. _'Scotland Yard without its consulting detective and their only functional DI, oh how the criminals of London will rejoice.'_ Sherlock wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry at the idea of London being overrun by criminals. He decides not to think about it, it won't be his problem anyway.

4…

His stomach clenches when in a moment of panic he realises this is it. The end. No way back. He is actually going to die. Today. He always felt he wouldn't live past forty, but he also always thought he would die by a gunshot, or maybe even drugs, but not by a suicide. Though this is not really a suicide of course. Well, technically it is, but this is not for him. He's doing it for them. _'Oh God this better be worth it. This better work.'_ Sherlock hasn't missed out on the irony. The one time he does something that isn't completely focused on himself, and it will kill him. "Alone is what I have, alone protects me." He should have listened to himself, he was right after all. But he got involved and now he is paying the price. _'Does it really matter though, if it saves them? If it saves John.'_ He looks up and tries to scan the ground for John, but it's too late, he's behind the building that will ensure the fact that John will not see him hit the ground. He knows that he can't possibly know the impact his death will have on the only man he can truly call a friend, but he knows John will be in pain. He expects him to pull through though. He is a soldier after all. He has seen friends and comrades die before. Sherlock knows he can deal with it.

5…

He makes the mistake of looking down, towards the ground, and sees that it is racing up to him. _'No, you are falling down to the ground'_ his brain corrects him. He realises he is getting closer to the pavement with each synapse that fires in his brain. And he can't face it. He shuts his eyes and focuses on the first thing that he thinks of, which strangely enough, is Mrs Hudson. _'How will she deal with his death?'_ The question enters his mind unasked for, and doesn't leave him. She was never a soldier and he had long ago deduced that she had seen Sherlock as a substitute son, since she never had one of her own. Sherlock had seen families enough after losing a child and knew the impact it could have on people, even if he couldn't completely understand it. He knows she is stronger than most people, but he can't shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach that the question brings with it. Or maybe that feeling is caused by his rapidly nearing death.

6…

He knows it will not take long anymore, though he isn't sure. At last, his brain has betrayed him. He has lost track of time, not sure how many seconds have passed since the soles of his shoes left the surface of the rooftop. Unwilling to open his eyes – which would allow him to be able to calculate the distance between him and the ground, thus giving him an idea of the passing of time – he does something he hasn't done a lot of times. He takes a guess. He thinks it will have been about five to six seconds since his fall started, giving him about one second to live. He swallows and imagines himself to be in the living room of the flat where he has spent so much time the last couple of months. He can almost feel the couch he imagines himself lying on and he could swear he could smell John's tea. His mind shifts to the kitchen and he can almost touch the table that's completely covered in equipment he was using for his latest experiment. The memory of his experiment snaps him out of his sentimental state of mind. He realises with a sense of sadness that he will never be able to finish it. _'Maybe Mycroft will'_ he contemplates. He just hopes that John won't throw it all away. It had actually taken him weeks to get to the point he was now and it would be a shame if all –

His thought process was interrupted by a sharp stab of pain when his body finally made contact with the concrete, but the moment his head slammed into the pavement, he lost consciousness, never to be regained.

Finally, Sherlock's mind was quiet. The mind that had been overloading his brain since he was a child, that he tried to tame with cocaine, that he tried to distract by solving cases, but never quite succeeded. He had finally found the solution. The solution he had desperately sought for his whole life, only to find it in death.

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* The mind-body problem refers to the gap in knowledge when it comes to figuring out how our independent mind exists. We know it is somehow generated by the brain, but we do not know why the brain has this power. (I mean, I don't see our kidneys generating a conscious mind, so why should the brain?)

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 **A/N:  
Thank you for reading! Positive feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome :)**


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